In a Father's Eyes
by Terri B
Summary: Thomas Wayne wants what's best for his son. Bruce is not so sure.
1. Wayward Son

In a Father's Eyes  
  
By Terri B.  
  
Simple Synopsis: This story asks the question; what would have happened if Thomas and Martha Wayne had never died in the alley that night. It takes place with Bruce in his early twenties, his parents hot on his tail for him to do something with his life. It is inspired by a line from Chris Dee's Cat-Tail's story, "Domestic Affairs". Sorry guys, not really a place for Batman in this fic but he's always here in heart.  
  
This story is complete but will be uploaded in chapters sporadically as I take time to transfer it from notebook to computer.  
  
Insert Disclaimer here-blah blah blah  
  
****************  
  
Thomas Wayne, doctor and President of Wayne Enterprises, walked sternly into his family home of Wayne Manor on the outer east end of Gotham City. Making sure to slam every door he got hold of, he attracted the attention of both his wife of twenty-five years, Martha, and their long-time butler, Alfred Pennyworth.  
  
"Thomas?" Martha said, a smile forming on her face. "You're home early." She looked at his sour expression and her bright smile faded. "What's wrong darling?" She tried to hug him but he pulled away and ignored her questions.  
  
"Is Bruce here?" He asked tersely.  
  
"He called an hour ago sir." Alfred answered. "He hopes to be home by dinner."  
  
Thomas nodded, "I want to see him as soon as he gets home."  
  
With a small nod Alfred excused himself to go start dinner leaving Martha to try to decipher the cause to her husband's foul mood. "Thomas.what is it? Is Bruce alright?" She asked worriedly.  
  
Thomas rolled his eyes. "He is an egotistical, naïve, stubborn boy who doesn't give a damn about his future!" He answered hotly.  
  
Here we go. Martha thought to herself and after giving her husband a milk- curdling stare, headed to the closet to grab her wrap.  
  
"Where are you going?" Thomas followed her to the door.  
  
"I have a Garden Society meeting." She snapped, heading to the garage to get her car.  
  
"I thought you weren't going.that you wanted to see Bruce." Thomas sounded perplexed as he watched his wife get into her white Mercedes.  
  
Unamused at his ability to look innocent, she answered him evenly. "I do want to see my son Thomas. We haven't seen him in four months since he left for school. But I refuse to involve myself in another one of your battles."  
  
"Martha." Thomas tried to cut in but Martha held up her hand, a motion he knew not to argue with.  
  
"He's your son Thomas, our only child. Remember that when you're trying to force him to follow in your footsteps. Push too hard, and we will lose him."  
  
Martha sped away leaving Thomas standing alone in the garage. He idly kicked at the ground, letting his wife's words sink in, at least a little bit. It's true he pushed Bruce, but it was only because he wanted the boy to embrace his potential. Bruce had the IQ of 207 and the ability to comprehend things that made his head spin. Best of all, Bruce cared about people; a lesson long taught to him throughout his childhood to respect others no matter what kind of car they drove, how much money they had, or what they looked like. Thomas saw a great future doctor in his 22 year-old son.  
  
Bruce, on the other hand, wasn't so convinced. Graduating from Gotham Academy at the age of 16 he chose to see the world rather than go straight on to college. Thomas had reluctantly agreed to the venture after a great deal of arm-twisting from both his son and wife, but after the year had passed, Bruce came back as uncentered as when he left. Uncentered and more rebellious, it seemed to the elder Wayne.  
  
"Did Mrs. Wayne go out sir?" Alfred asked from the doorway, snapping Thomas out of his haze of memories. He relayed Martha's whereabouts, leaving out the part where she scolded him.  
  
"What a pity, she was looking forward to greeting Master Bruce. Shall I hold dinner?"  
  
Thomas followed his old friend into the house. "You might as well put a hold on it permanently. I doubt anyone will be in the mood to eat tonight." He answered; sitting at the kitchen table while Alfred poured out tea for the two of them and sat opposite. Thomas sighed, "When is he going to take responsibility for his life Alfred?"  
  
"Master Bruce is young and full of interests. He needs time to figure out what he wants to do with his life." Alfred answered honestly, a trait Thomas had come to respect in his employee and friend.  
  
"And while the boy takes his merry time, the world sits." Thomas refuted impatiently. "You know, with a mind like that he could be out there curing Cancer or AIDS, but instead he's rock climbing, racing cars, and God knows what else. I don't know Alfred.It seems like such a waste."  
  
Alfred chose not to reply; he knew better and merely sipped at his tea. The two finished in silence but before Thomas left the room he turned.  
  
"Alfred?" He asked quietly.  
  
"Yes sir?"  
  
""What do you do when your children don't do what you think is right for them?"  
  
Alfred thought for a moment before replying. He didn't have any children to speak of so he imagined how his father felt when he told the man he wanted to become an actor and smiled to himself. "You reevaluate the reasons why it is so important to you."  
  
Thomas nodded with sad eyes. "I'll be in my study." He answered before drifting out of the room. 


	2. Homecoming

Bruce decided to drive through Gotham rather than take the highway bypass home. There was something to be said about the city; a certain sparkle he saw despite the nightly violence he heard about on the news. He drove along the docks, past the tiny inner-city clinic his dad founded, and even through the downtown, passing by Wayne Enterprises. The high-rise stood proudly on the Gotham skyline, a symbol of honest business and the American dream. The front of the complex sported a new fountain; a gaudy cherub- laced stone decoration that seemed horribly out of place with the rest of the landscaping.  
  
Bruce, of, course, had heard the whole story how Martha saw the fountain in nearby Bristol's town square. To Thomas's dismay, when the town decided to dismantle it she bought it. He thought it was the ugliest thing he had ever laid eyes upon and forbid his wife to even think about putting it anywhere on the grounds surrounding Wayne Manor. Martha seemed to give in to her husband's whim but Thomas went to work the next morning to find the fountain set up right outside WE headquarters. Being a stubborn man, Thomas could not admit to his wife that he'd rather have the crumbling water waster stinking up a back lot of his estate rather than in downtown Gotham's business district, so the fountain remains and probably will for years. Bruce couldn't say he found the fountain especially aesthetically pleasing but he would never admit that to his mother.  
  
It was around dinnertime when he finally pulled up to the iron gates of his family's ancestral home. It had been a two-day drive from California and he was exhausted but he never failed to see the beauty of the large mansion, from his mother's prize-winning rosebushes in front to the rocky forbidden areas in the back. He loved to be home; only wishing that he could avoid the constant lectures his father seemed to throw his way.  
  
'Maybe he'll let up this time. After all, he thinks I'm in school." Bruce mused to himself, only half-believing.  
  
He pulled up the long drive of Wayne Manor, expecting a welcome party to meet his Porsche but as he got towards the house, no one, not even Alfred, was outside to greet him. He stopped in front of the large doors and went to get his bags from the trunk.  
  
"How quickly they forget." He muttered, but before he had to shuffle things to get his keys out the door opened and Alfred stepped out happily.  
  
"Good Evening Master Bruce!" He chirped. "How was your trip?"  
  
"Long," Bruce managed with a weary smile. "Next time I spout off about driving cross country, talk some sense into me."  
  
As the two talked, Alfred made several attempts to grab Bruce's bags but the younger Wayne, aware of the sneaky intentions would rotate his body, keeping his things just out of reach of the older gentlemen. This was a silent war of wills between the two friends. Bruce had been trying, with no success, to carry his own luggage since he was fifteen. This time, however, he was sure he could get away with it.  
  
"Where is everyone?" Bruce asked curiously, looking around at the quiet halls of the manor.  
  
"Your mother had a meeting with the Garden Society and your father is in his study."  
  
Bruce nodded and headed to the steps, almost sure that he would make it to his room unfettered. Alfred, ever the strategist, chose at that moment to drop the bomb.  
  
"You father does wish to speak to you as soon as possible. He looked quite distressed."  
  
Bruce froze in place giving Alfred a clear shot for the luggage. He was halfway up the steps before Bruce managed to ask, "Is he mad or upset?"  
  
"He's.concerned sir." Alfred answered before disappearing down the upstairs hall.  
  
Bruce shut his eyes and sighed. He was far too tired for a showdown tonight but it looked like he had no choice. He made his way slowly to his father's study, hoping that he could fins some sort distraction on the way; whether it be a falling chandelier or damsel in distress. When no distraction came, however, he took a deep breath and opened the door to his father's study.  
  
***** See the Wayne tempers flare in the next installment aptly entitled "Deception". 


	3. Deception

Bruce tried to sound upbeat when greeting his father but Thomas' stony glare made him tense. Instead of greeting the son he hadn't seen in months, Thomas angrily pushed a letter into the boy's chest.  
  
"Dean Walters sent this to me today." He began, sounding dangerously calm though annunciating his words very carefully. "He wanted to express his sincere gratitude for the donation I sent him this semester even despite the fact that my son dropped out of school two months ago."  
  
Bruce could only stand there, his head lowered in guilt as he waited for the lecture he knew had to follow such a revelation. He innerly pleaded with himself to keep quiet and let 'hurricane dad' run his course.  
  
"I am an easy man." Thomas said in a dangerous tone. His eyes were fixed into a harsh glare on his son.  
  
Bruce, who was never one to listen to his own reason, flopped into the nearest chair with a labored sigh. "God Dad! Not the 'I'm an easy man' speech. I swear you've been using that one on me since I was ten."  
  
"And maybe someday you'll choose to listen!" Thomas shot back. His face was turning red with anger and these days it seemed a common side effect of talking to his son. "Were you ever going to tell me?!"  
  
"Yes." Bruce shrugged. "It didn't seem like something to blurt out over the phone."  
  
"So you have spent the past couple months hangin' in California; hiding out from your poor mother and I. Smart Bruce, very responsible." Thomas spouted sarcastically then seemed to have a disturbing thought, evident by the creases in his forehead. "Oh my God.ARE YOU ON DRUGS?!"  
  
Bruce rolled his eyes. "Great." He sighed to no one in particular. Bruce had sat through enough lectures to know that Thomas had to slip in the drug issue somewhere. The aging doctor had the paranoia of thinking that all people under the age of 30 did drugs. It was annoying.  
  
"Are you!" Thomas demanded and answer, his eyes filled with fear.  
  
"No dad! For the last time I don't do drugs! Why do you have to ask me every time I see you?!" Bruce yelled.  
  
"Well maybe because your decisions are so asinine I can only hope there a result of something other than pure stupidity!"  
  
Bruce's eyes shot up. "Stupidity? Because I choose not to go to medical school?"  
  
"The first time you have ever taken a direction in your life and you throw it away." Thomas shook his head in amazement. "Yes I call that stupidity." Bruce knew he wouldn't win on this one. Thomas had been preparing for Bruce to be a doctor since he was a baby. He rubbed his head, trying to massage away a massive headache forming.  
  
"Are we done?" He asked wearily.  
  
"Not even close." Thomas glared. "You should be glad I didn't involve your mother in this."  
  
"Then there will be two of us to think you're being unreasonable." Bruce muttered.  
  
Thomas did not look amused. "You are grounded young man! You will spend the next three months working mornings at the clinic and afternoons making up the classes you skipped out on. Perhaps Stamford wasn't the right medical school to send you to." He went on. "Maybe I'll have to look into some place closer."  
  
Bruce's mouth dropped in disbelief. "You can't ground me. I'm 22-years- old! And you certainly can't force me to take classes."  
  
Thomas shrugged with a shrewd look. "I control your trust fund as well as your monthly allowance so I sure as hell have a say in what you do with that money."  
  
"I see." Bruce answered quietly before he got up and marched out of the office.  
  
"Where are you going?" Thomas bellowed.  
  
"Out." Bruce answered, slamming the front door behind him. 


	4. The ones we love

Martha Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth had the type of rapport in which the slightest glance gave each other warning of the current mood of one Thomas Wayne. Alfred's subtle glance spoke volumes to Martha after returning from her meeting with the garden society. She just shook her head and went off in search of her brooding husband. It wasn't long before she found him in the study, sitting in the dark and staring at a picture of Bruce as a child.  
  
"I take it your little 'conversation' did not go well?" She said, sitting on the brown leather couch and patting the seat next to her.  
  
Thomas was resigned to join her and he recounted the past night's events as well as Bruce's departure from his studies at Stamford. Martha listened attentively to her husband, trying to keep a smile off her face as the story sounded so familiar to the one of his own youth. After he finished, he laid his head on her shoulder and sighed.  
  
"Remember when Brucie was five?"  
  
"Such a handful." Martha laughed. "So full of curiosity."  
  
"He used to beg me to take him to the clinic. He had so many questions." Thomas remembered wistfully.  
  
"He was young Tommy." Martha soothed. "We knew there would come a day when he wouldn't see us as the center of the universe anymore." She said. Her eyes grew distant with a recollection and then she began to laugh.  
  
"What is it?" Thomas asked.  
  
"Remember when I wanted Bruce to become an opera singer?"  
  
Thomas grinned with the memory. Martha had been adamant about Bruce having vocal talent. She would personally cart him off to lessons three times a week and even pushed him to join Gotham Academy's boy's choir.  
  
"He tried so hard." Martha said in between giggles.  
  
Thomas nodded, tears streaming from his eyes because he was laughing so hard. "He could not sing if his life depended on it. They had to stick him as far away from the microphones as possible."  
  
Martha calmed down and patted her husband's knee. "See.I gave up my dream for young Brucie. Why can't you?"  
  
Thomas became serious once again. "He's a special kid. I just want him to excel."  
  
"Then let him.in his own way. He is too stubborn to conform Thomas. He's just like you."  
  
Thomas smiled and gave his wife a kiss. They both leaned back in each other's arms and remembered a time when life was simpler and they were the ones in control. Martha suddenly sat up in the realization that she had yet to see her son.  
  
"Where is Bruce?"  
  
"He walked out." Thomas answered wearily. "But I can guess where he is."  
  
"I think she's good for him. He's so shy."  
  
"She's so young." Thomas countered in disapproval.  
  
Martha narrowed her eyes. "There is a four-year difference Mr. Wayne." She said pointedly. "From what I recall that is two years less than the difference between you and I." She stood and pulled him up. "Now come on, let's go beg Alfred for some dinner. Maybe he made his double chocolate fudge chip cookies."  
  
Before being pulled to the kitchen by Martha, Thomas took one parting look out the window, wondering what sort of mischief his son has gotten himself into. **** With a final gasp of satisfaction, Bruce rested his head on his companion's collarbone, softly kissing the sensitive skin of her neck and shoulder. She ran her fingers idly through his thick black hair until he rolled off and gathered her lovingly in his arms.  
  
"Well that was a nice 'hey and hello'." Barbara giggled breathlessly, pushing a lock of red hair out of her face.  
  
"I said hi." Bruce argued and then furrowed his brow, trying to remember. "Didn't I?"  
  
Barbara shook her head with a grin. "Not unless you count pulling my shirt off and dragging me to the bedroom before the door was practically closed."  
  
"Sorry." Bruce said sheepishly. "I guess I was a little anxious."  
  
Barbara rolled on her side and propped her head up in her hand. "So, you're home three seconds and you've already made a visit to the girl you left behind." She recounted and then a wicked grin spread across her face. "Your dad found out about Stamford, huh?"  
  
Bruce rolled his eyes. "He wasn't too happy. That little vein popped out in his forehead twice."  
  
"I'd be mad too if my kid quit college and didn't bother to tell anyone."  
  
"He would have been just as made then as he is now."  
  
"And what did he say about crime school?" She asked.  
  
"We didn't exactly get that far." He said quietly. Barbara Gordon gave her boyfriend an incredulous stare. "Bruce, you've been going to classes for criminology since winter semester at the community college. You're telling me the man doesn't know?"  
  
"He doesn't want to know. He just wants me to stay his little boy forever. I'm telling you, the man would flip if he heard I'm working on a criminology degree at community college no less."  
  
"Something tells me your dad isn't that snobbish. But anyway, you have to tell him. I mean you've poured your heart and soul into this degree."  
  
Bruce sighed. "He's not going to let me go to anything but med school. He's already ordered me to stay the summer and make up the classes at Gotham U'."  
  
"Just explain nicely that you, like him, don't want to go into the family business." Barbara reasoned.  
  
"And watch as his head explodes." Bruce added wearily. "He's already threatened to take away my trust fund. Imagine if he really starts to get creative."  
  
"Oh poor baby." Barbara mocked. She is the adoptive daughter of a police lieutenant and is going to school on scholarship while her best friend is bound for a 200 million-dollar trust fund when he turns 25. She just didn't feel bad for the guy.  
  
"If dad disowns me can I live with you?" Bruce asked with a hopeful grin.  
  
"No." She giggled. "You'd eat all my cereal. Besides, your dad doesn't like me very much."  
  
"He doesn't like me very much either." Bruce tried to sound pitiful but could not help but laugh.  
  
"Seriously, talk to him. Tell him what he needs to know so he'll stop worrying." She said, kissing his cheek.  
  
Bruce gave her a weak smile and pulled her into his arms where they both fell into a deep sleep. 


	5. playing the hero

Bruce was up early the next morning. After kissing a half-asleep Barbara goodbye, he headed out to run some errands before making the painful trek back home to the manor. He had tossed and turned the whole night, thinking about his father and medical school.  
  
From an early age, Thomas had molded Bruce to follow in his footsteps. For his tenth birthday, Bruce received a stethoscope and proudly wore it around his neck when he would go to the clinic with his father. The two were inseparable back then; Martha always joked that she couldn't tell the two apart except that Bruce was the short one.  
  
As the boy grew older, things began to change. Bruce started to realize that there was a world of difference between playing doctor and actually being one. He often went to the clinic to watch his father work, noting how passionate the man was about helping people and making them well. Bruce tried for the life of him to feel the same fervor but, like his short- lived singing career, the more he tried the less successful he was.  
  
"You're not trying!" Thomas used to scold when he would hand his son cases to pick apart. Bruce knew every disease in the book and every medication to treat them but put him in a room with a patient and his mind went blank. He was more fascinated by the circumstances behind the wound than the injury itself. By the time Bruce was fifteen, medicine ceased to be his focus on life and ultimately became a wedge between the two Wayne men.  
  
After a long walk through Robinson Park, Bruce headed to the gym. He had gone through so many contingencies that short of obeying his father's wishes or facing excommunication, he was out of ideas. If anyone would know how to get him out of his current situation it would be his old Academy buddy and lawyer-in-training, Harvey Dent.  
  
"Roll with it." Harvey said dismissively as he piled weights to the bar.  
  
"What the hell does that mean?!" Bruce gestured wildly.  
  
Harvey sighed, "You don't want to be a doctor do don't be a doctor. Simple." He grunted as he bench-pressed a couple hundred pounds. Bruce stood behind the bar to spot, staring down at his friend, his face a visage of frustrated agony.  
  
"It's not that simple Harvey. I'm in serious danger of getting my ass kicked out of the Wayne family tree."  
  
Harvey slammed the bar back into its supports and sat up, rubbing a towel to catch the sweat off his neck. "Get over it Bruce! You can't make him happy so live your life. Grow a beard, hug a tree, rob a bank. Do what you need to do." He answered with a shrug.  
  
"Gee you're a big help." Bruce muttered.  
  
Heading back to his car dejectedly, Bruce ignored the blatant points and whispers. He was somewhat of a celebrity in Gotham; his whole family was. "Hey look, it's Bruce Wayne. I wonder how big his trust fund is." They would say. Bruce had heard it all his life. Through school kids were nice to him because he had money. In college, some professors had the gall to ask him for grant-money to fund their research. Money was a collar that he felt cut off the air supply to his free will.  
  
Bruce sighed and was about to get in his car when he heard a scream coming from somewhere nearby. He turned in time to see a woman being attacked by three thugs. They grabbed the woman's purse then hit her with such force that she was knocked roughly to the ground. Bruce snarled at the sight of the mugging not only in midday and plain sight but in the city he grew up in; a city that was now being taken over by criminals.  
  
"Hey!" He yelled, rushing to the scene as quickly as his legs would carry him. The three guys took off running, heading into the alley. In a fit of blind rage, Bruce ran after the goons in hopes to at least get the woman's purse back.  
  
The thugs ran as fast as they could through the darkened alleyways in hopes that their pursuer would give up but he was directly behind them at every turn. As soon as they hit a blind corner, Chucky, the leader of the group, pulled out his gun, tightly gripping it to his chest.  
  
"Hey man!" One of the others hissed. "We can't kill nobody. That's serious shit."  
  
"Shut up." Chucky ordered frantically. He stood tightly against the wall waiting for whoever was chasing them to round the corner.  
  
An alarm went off inside Bruce's head the second he lost sight of them. The alarm was a moment too late because he turned the corner to find one of the guys aiming a gun at his chest. His heart raced and he slowly put up his hands.  
  
"Look I don't want any trouble." He said, trying to sound as calm as possible.  
  
"Well you just found some didn't you!" Chucky retorted as he waved the gun around erratically.  
  
Bruce saw fear in the man's eyes. He had learned in his criminology courses that people do crazy things because of fear: they'll steal, main, and even kill. Bruce decided in that moment that he could not and would not be a victim and pounced suddenly on the gunman.  
  
The two men wrestled to gain control of the situation but all grew still the second a shot rang out. Bruce and Chucky stared at each other in surprise. They say that when a person is shot they don't even realize it at first because of the shock. Bruce looked at Chucky and then down at himself. His shirt was covered in blood and he could feel his legs giving way underneath him. He sunk to the ground, a look of pure wonderment on his face.  
  
Chucky shakily backed up and dropped the gun. He stood there, dazed by what he had just done. He had never shot someone before, always using the gun to instill fear rather than pain. He was frozen to the world until his friends pulled him reluctantly out of the ally.  
  
Bruce laid there in pain for what seemed like forever. The world was growing dim around him and suddenly his problems didn't seem so real anymore. He thought of his mother, father, Alfred, and Barbara and wondered why he took their love for granted. With this he fell unconscious, only faintly sensing someone beside him.  
  
"Oh my God." An older man stammered. He had heard the gunshot and came to investigate. He quickly knelt next to the young man. "Don't worry son. I'll call for help." 


	6. Waiting to exhale

"Alfred, has Bruce called?" Martha asked after Bruce didn't come home. She hoped that he hadn't done something crazy.  
  
"No Ms. Wayne." Alfred passed her with his hat and his coat. "I was just on my way out to search for him."  
  
"He's just blowing off steam, he'll come home when he's ready." Thomas put a reassuring arm around his wife but his voice made it all the more clear that his words were an effort to convince himself as well. "It's a Wayne characteristic to overreact."  
  
"Well I have not seen my son in three months so forgive me if I do not share your view on the subject." She pulled away sharply, furious at her husband for chasing Bruce away.  
  
Thomas was about to react when he heard a large crash in the hall. Both he and Martha hurried in to see Alfred on the phone, his hands shaking to the point where he knocked a vase from the table.  
  
"Alfred?" Martha touched the man's shoulder in concern as he hung up the phone.  
  
"That was County Hospital. Master Bruce was brought in a few moments ago with a gunshot wound."  
  
Martha's eyes opened wide with horror. "He was shot? How?" She began shakily.  
  
"The nurse did not say. We should head there immediately."  
  
Martha nodded slowly as if in shock. Thomas was already a step ahead of Alfred. He had grabbed his medical bag and Martha's wrap and ushered them to the car, heading automatically to the driver's side.  
  
"Sir?" Alfred said as Thomas rarely drove the Rolls.  
  
"Hop in Alfred, keep Martha calm." Thomas ordered sternly. He floored the acceleration and roared out of the driveway. Alfred's task of keeping Martha calm was hampered by the fact that Thomas' driving was scaring them both to death.  
  
With hands firmly clenched all through the long ride, they finally made it to the hospital in one piece when the car screeched to a halt in front of the emergency room.  
  
"Hey, you can't park here!" A guard yelled to the Rolls Royce's fleeing passengers.  
  
"Tow it!" Thomas answered sternly as he wrapped his arm around Martha supportively and headed into the hospital.  
  
Bruce drifted in and out of consciousness, hearing only snippets of what the doctors were saying about internal bleeding and broken ribs. He was too weak to open his eyes when a new but familiar voice demanded answers about his condition. He felt another voice close to his ear, a hand caressing his cheek gently.  
  
"Bruce.Bruce you're going to get through this." Martha soothed shakily to her unconscious boy. "Come on honey, just wake up so I can see those beautiful blue eyes."  
  
Bruce wished he could; that he could sit up and give his mother a hug but he was so tired and with that his brain slipped further into unconsciousness.  
  
"He's seizing!" One of the nurses yelled sharply, causing a barrage of doctors to come flying into the room, pushing Martha further out of the way. When Thomas tried to join the fold, Martha pulled him back sharply.  
  
"He's my son!" Wayne snapped, looking at his only boy attached to dozen of machines, fighting for his life.  
  
"Let your colleagues save him." She answered before breaking down and sobbing against his chest. "Please, Thomas, don't leave me."  
  
Thomas finally allowed his wife to lead him out of the room and they waited in the overcrowded ER with dozens of other families worried and frantic about their own loved ones. Martha leaned her head against Thomas' chest, staring distantly at the wall. Bruce was her life; the only child she and Thomas were able to have. She couldn't lose him.  
  
"He's strong Martha.like you." Thomas said softly, running his fingers through her hair. When he looked up from his distraught wife he noticed Alfred speaking with a couple of police officers, hopefully finding out how Bruce ended up getting shot. He waited patiently, rocking his wife in his arms, watching them speak. After several minutes, Alfred shook the man's hand and headed back to where the Wayne's were seated.  
  
He recounted the tale he had just heard, how Bruce saved a woman from a savage mugging. Thomas tried to remain calm, for the sake of his wife, while Alfred told them the rest.  
  
"He chased an armed robber through and alley?" Thomas asked slowly after hearing the shocking story.  
  
"The officers call him a hero, misguided but a hero all the same. The woman could have been hurt a lot worse than she was and they also recovered her purse."  
  
"What about the person who did this?" Martha asked wearily.  
  
Alfred smiled softly, "The police say that the man turned himself in almost right after it happened. He was just a kid. He had never shot anyone before."  
  
Thomas, Martha, and Alfred waited in the chairs for what seemed like forever. It was well after dark before the doctor came out to talk to them. Bruce was alive, his condition stabilized.  
  
"We thought we had lost him a couple of times but he hung in there. Your son is a fighter."  
  
The family finally relaxed a little, smiling for the first time in hours. Barbara had made it to the hospital just in time to hear the good news. She sighed in relief, wiping her tear-stained eyes. Martha stood up and gave her son's best friend a big hug.  
  
"Can we see him?" Barbara asked.  
  
"He's pretty weak but once we have him situated he can see one person at a time."  
  
Broke awoke to see his mother sitting beside him, pushing some hair out of his face. She smiled warmly.  
  
"Mom." Bruce tried to speak but could only manage a hoarse whisper. She held him steady to keeping him from trying to get up.  
  
"Shh." She soothed. "You gave us quite a scare. I hope taking a bullet wasn't one of your creative ways of keeping from seeing your own mother."  
  
"Never." He answered softly, staring gratefully into her eyes.  
  
"Good. I'm proud of you Bruce. You're my little hero." She smiled, a tear running down her cheek from hours of anxiety.  
  
"Not so little." He reminded her.  
  
"Yes yes, my all grown up hero then." She hugged him gently careful of all the tubes machines he was hooked up to. She stayed by his side until he drifted off to sleep, wondering why the Wayne men had to be heroic all the time: first Thomas and his inner city clinic and now Bruce chasing purse- snatchers.  
  
Martha sighed. "My men." 


	7. battle strategy

Bruce's stay at the hospital wasn't that bad as far as hospital visits go. He received daily visits from Alfred, who was able to sneak in brownies for him, and Barbara who wouldn't stop kissing him. Martha was also there a lot of the time, even threatening to make her husband buy the hospital and fire everyone if they didn't let her stay past visiting hours.  
  
Thomas visited regularly and remained stoically calm. He didn't even lecture Bruce on his heroics and listened as the boy explained his reasons behind not becoming a doctor. He didn't much agree with the boy's reasoning but decided that Bruce needed to find his own path and chose for himself. He needed to give Bruce the chance that his father gave him.  
  
Criminology, however, was an entirely different matter.  
  
"Insane." Thomas said one afternoon after hearing about Bruce's work at the criminology school.  
  
"Dad." Bruce rolled his eyes. "I would still be helping people and using my intelligence you keep going on about, just in a different way."  
  
Thomas sighed dramatically but then looked at his son, lying in a hospital bed, his chest wrapped up like a mummy. He remembered well what brought Bruce to this state and needed to be more open to his son's ideas, as asinine as they were.  
  
"Would." He began slowly. "Would detective school or whatever it is you call it, keep you from getting shot by teenaged purse snatchers?"  
  
Bruce grinned. "It might not prevent it completely but it still could help."  
  
"Ok." Thomas sighed. "You can get a criminology degree."  
  
"Really?" Bruce's eyes lit up.  
  
"But no changing you mind in three months and not telling me!" Thomas said sternly but his eyes showed his affection.  
  
"Deal." Bruce laughed.  
  
Bruce got out of the hospital after three weeks. He would have to take it easy until his ribs healed but all out insisted he walk out of the hospital on his own two feet.  
  
"Stubborn boy." Thomas shook his head, watching as Barbara helped Bruce hobble along in front of them.  
  
"Yeah." Martha sighed peacefully. "He gets that from you."  
  
In the car Thomas leafed through a brochure Bruce had handed him. "So this school in New York has a criminology program?"  
  
"The best." Bruce answered  
  
"Good." Martha nodded. "That means you can come home and visit more than once a year."  
  
"Well, I do plan to come back to Gotham when I finish. Lieutenant Gordon says he'll have a job waiting at the GCPD."  
  
"Hey" Thomas' eyes lit up. "Maybe you could put in some hours at Wayne Enterprises, whip those guys into shape."  
  
Bruce snorted. "What do you want me to do dad, work at WE all day and fight crime at night? I'm not a machine."  
  
Thomas just shook his head, keeping his comments to himself. Bruce may have won this battle, but the war was far from over.  
  
  
  
THE END (finally)  
  
Sorry guys, no Batman in this story but I'd like to think his spirit was still there. 


End file.
